Page 50 of It's Not All Fake

“I’ll only agree if you can guarantee exclusivity,” I state, as if we are casually working out a business arrangement.

Liam’s eyes widen, darting to the waiter who is refilling his water glass, clearly taken aback that I would carry on our conversation in front of someone else.

Regaining his composure, Liam smiles and leans into our veiled discussion. “I’ll make that guarantee, but it goes both ways.”

“Of course,” I respond without hesitation.

“Then you have a deal,” he grins, sealing our agreement.

I feel my cheeks heat as the waiter finally walks away, leaving us alone again. Liam doesn’t take his eyes off me.

The sky is a deep shade of blue now, the sun nearly completely gone for the day. Candlelight dances across Liam’s features, accentuating how devilishly handsome he is. The slight breeze tousles his dark hair and the flame from the candle shimmers in his brown eyes.

We’ve just agreed to enter a condomless, monogamous sexual partnership.

I can already feel the rational part of me percolating a million questions—Is this a real relationship now? Am I still an employee? What does this mean to him?

But I quickly shut out that part of my mind. I don’t want to ruin a good thing by overanalyzing it to death—a hazard of the job. I want this. My gut tells me this is right. This feels right.

So, I’m going to do it.

Fuck the training wheels.

I bite my lower lip and smile. Liam continues to watch me, a slight tilt lifting the corners of his lips.

“So, how was your day?” I ask, shifting the topic so suddenly it’s almost humorous as I nonchalantly pick up my crab leg cracker and start working on the enormous crustacean in front of me. He asked about my day earlier, so it’s only polite to ask about his.

Liam chuckles softly. “Well, after my lab tests…” His gaze briefly flicks to the stack of medical results still lying on the table. “I went for a run, then had a few meetings. We’re in the process of acquiring an indie production company,” he shares, deftly extracting crab meat from a leg and popping it into his mouth.

“Oh, what kind? Another horror film company?” I raise an eyebrow curiously.

“Yes, actually.”

“Do you really like them—horror movies?” I probe, genuinely curious how he could like all the blood, guts, and torture.

“They’re cheap and popular.” He shrugs, cracking open another crab leg. “People like the adrenaline rush.”

“Romance movies can give you the same rush,” I counter.

“Sure,” Liam agrees, pausing his meal. “I suppose if your heart is racing, you have goosebumps and butterflies in your stomach…” He studies me as if observing those very symptoms on me at that moment, and my stomach tightens reflexively. “It could be fear or love.”

His gaze intensifies, drilling into me. The way he’s looking at me—the fact that he said the “L” word—I feel a surge of adrenaline and warmth flood my cheeks.

Why does he have this effect on me?

I clear my throat. “Um, I meant—do you like them personally?” He gave me his business answer before, and I need another question to move on from this intense moment—the knot in my stomach is winding too tight.

“I do like some of them.” He nods, his voice no longer dripping with subtext. “It’s about facing death and survival,” he explains, pausing to really consider his words. “For me, they’re a reminder that all the trivial things don’t matter in the end. We should focus on what’s truly important.” His eyes meet mine, holding my gaze for a long moment and I let him.

Okay, maybe there is some subtext now. Is he implying that I’m important to him?

A faint smile plays on Liam’s lips, and I realize he understands how he is mentally mind-fucking me and it must be darkly amusing to him.

“That’s pretty deep for a business mogul,” I quip, raising an eyebrow, trying to break the tension.

“I have a softer side, Chloe,” he claims with a half-smile. “I even dabble in writing poetry.”

I laugh, unable to tell if he’s joking. “Really? Can I hear some?”

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